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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба
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- Стр. 163/859
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‘
One
cheer
more
,
’
screamed
the
little
fugleman
in
the
balcony
,
and
out
shouted
the
mob
again
,
as
if
lungs
were
cast
-
iron
,
with
steel
works
.
‘
Slumkey
for
ever
!
’
roared
the
honest
and
independent
.
‘
Slumkey
for
ever
!
’
echoed
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
taking
off
his
hat
.
‘
No
Fizkin
!
’
roared
the
crowd
.
‘
Certainly
not
!
’
shouted
Mr
.
Pickwick
.
‘
Hurrah
!
’
And
then
there
was
another
roaring
,
like
that
of
a
whole
menagerie
when
the
elephant
has
rung
the
bell
for
the
cold
meat
.
‘
Who
is
Slumkey
?
‘
whispered
Mr
.
Tupman
.
‘
I
don
’
t
know
,
’
replied
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
in
the
same
tone
.
‘
Hush
.
Don
’
t
ask
any
questions
.
It
’
s
always
best
on
these
occasions
to
do
what
the
mob
do
.
’
‘
But
suppose
there
are
two
mobs
?
’
suggested
Mr
.
Snodgrass
.
‘
Shout
with
the
largest
,
’
replied
Mr
.
Pickwick
.
Volumes
could
not
have
said
more
.
They
entered
the
house
,
the
crowd
opening
right
and
left
to
let
them
pass
,
and
cheering
vociferously
.
